


The Los Angeles Hotel of Horror

by FTW_Coin



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Demon Ryan Bergara, Detectives, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Muteness, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FTW_Coin/pseuds/FTW_Coin
Summary: The year is 1948.Detective C.C. Tinsley, frustrated of month after month of dead-end cases has no choice but to resort to the simple sport of catching petty thieves and other simple criminals to sustain his life.But when he makes an attempt to turn in Ryan Bergara, his world turns upside down.Then, he meets Ricky Goldsworth.And two men sharing a body was nothing compared to Tinsley's upcoming case.





	The Los Angeles Hotel of Horror

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are a bit important here, folks! I'll add on as the story progresses, too. C.C. Tinsley is a selectively mute character. Thanks for the read!  
> Chapter titles name some songs that help me to inspire some of these chapters! I reccomend listening to them!

   **1948**

C.C. Tinsley, private investigator, didn't claim to have a most fantastic life. His home was one of simplicity, a small apartment with room for only him. And that, truthfully, was fine.

  Cigarette smoke wafted towards the detective's eyes as he exhaled, examining the newspaper through his reading glasses. Yes, it was dim outside now, barely even morning. The hustle and bustle of Los Angeles was disturbingly quiet at the time. The detective's desk stood before him emptily, several papers scattered around, though they were only cold cases.

  Life had been like this for many weeks by now. Quiet. Disturbingly so. And he didn't like it.

  With a sigh, Tinsley set away his newspaper, taking a long drag of his cigarette as his eyes catch the moonlight outside. At least, the thin beams that scatter through the clouds. He waves away more smoke before pulling away the cigarette, pushing it into an ashtray to burn it out before standing. 

  God, how much of a  _bore_ life was without a case. Hell, he'd take to going back to investigating the Sodder house for the thousandth time over just  _this._

  He accompanies his body with a long coat, his hair with a rimmed hat to keep himself discreet. Then, he frees himself of his apartment, stepping into wet, cool Los Angeles air.

  In an attempt to save the detective from himself, he had turned to a life of ending small crime. Catching thieves and turning them over for a bit of cash was simple enough... Just to hold him over. These days were deadly and cold, the latter being a rarity in California. Despite this, such petty crimes were surprisingly common these days. 

  The detective shuts away the bitter breeze with his coat, refusing the need to shiver. His hand dives carefully into the large pocket, and his fingers wrap delicately around his weapon, tensed just in case. 

  And yes, he had been assaulted quite a few times before. 

  His trained ears sense small, echoing footsteps scraping in an alley behind him. Tinsley pauses for a moment, though he quickly continues, so as to not notify the other being of his realization. Sure enough, there's the telltale click, followed by the sound of a window sliding open.

  Once the detective is certain that the presence has slipped inside, he turns silently, so as to retreat to where the window was. It was open, surely, the cool breeze making the drapes shiver, as though they, too, were chilled to the bone.

  His eyes sweep through the room, and it seems as though the thief has slipped either upstairs or to another room. Tinsley steps into the home and slides the window closed quietly, his fingers wrapped firmly around the revolver in his coat, prepared for any sudden assault. 

  The detective takes each step with caution, each movement calculated as he creeps through the surprisingly nice home. From what he could tell, the owners were either asleep or out, the former being more likely due to the early hour.

  He had already ruled out the thief being the owner. If they were, the front door would have been the obvious option. Why the window? And why leave it open?

  The detective's eyes inspect each and every detail of the rooms, though he sees nothing out of place, nor the thief. Truthfully, the darkness feels almost... Deadly. It was thick, almost like a cream that surrounded him, suffocated him, filling his chest. 

  Amongst these thoughts, he finds it difficult to focus on the fast at hand. The fingers around the revolver tighten to the point of shaking as a noise with no source fills his ears, sounding of both a heavy rain and a high-pitched siren. A symptom of the surrounding emptiness, certainly. Nevertheless, he makes an attempt to gather his wits and compntinue. Tinsley takes a deep breath in a poor attempt to clear his mind, heavy with the darkness.

  His attempt to remain will full are honestly laughable. Here he was, the great C.C. Tinsley, falling apart at the the seams in the darkness like a child, scared of the monsters that lurk in the room around him.

 He shakes his head at the thoughts that flood his mind, determined to find this thief and  _get out of there._ Nevertheless, it's impossible to not be startled by the sudden movement of a glass dish in the corner of his eye. Seeing this, the detective pulls free from his coat the revolver, taking aim, only to realize that there was nothing to fire at. It was as though the plate had moved entirely on its own. 

  But when Tinsely notices the presence behind him, he's a heartbeat too late. Too distracted by the movement of the dish to notice the sleek, smooth movement of a stranger, he makes a quick attempt to correct his mistake by whipping around and pressing the revolver to the other's chest. But... Honestly, it was as though this person  _knew_ exactly what he had planned to do, easily catching and twisting the detective's wrist to make him drop the weapon, which flattered uselessly to the floor. He then forced his arm behind his back, keeping an iron grip on Tinsley. 

  "Hello to you, too," the surprisingly strong thief snarled to the detective. Tinsley glared at the intruder, although honestly surprised that the other had so easily disarmed him. He tenses in the grip, straining as the stranger kicks away the revolver. "What is it? Cat got your tongue?" He asks rather teasingly.

  Surprisingly, the thief then released Tinsley, who did a slight stumble as the weight of his body lurched forward without support. If the other began to attack, the revolver was too far to reach. He'd have to rely on hand-to-hand. It had been a while.

  "Oh, where are my manners?" The stranger asks himself, extending his hand with a disturbing amount of courtsey. "The name's Bergara. Ryan Bergara." The detective is, naturally, hesitant to respond, his eyes flicking towards the hand, then to the thief. "Not talking?" The boy asks, raising an eyebrow as he lowers his hand. "What are you doing here, huh?"

  Tinsley narrows his eyes at the intruder, his gaze burning into the other, eyes asking the exact same question. Bergara seems to shrug off the silence, his gaze turning towards the darkness around them. "I'm just... Looking for someone. What?" He questions. "You thought I was but a petty thief, didn't you?" He asks rather accusingly, to which the detective's intensity wavers. "Hmmph," he hums. "Yeah, you did. Why don't you just scurry on home, then?"

 However, the one-sided conversation is abruptly cut off with a sound in the neighboring room. Something ruffling the curtains, it seems. A cat, maybe? Though the boy grins. "There you are," he says calmly, hurrying away from the detective and towards the noise. Taking notice of the opportunity, Tinsley is quick to scurry for the forgotten revolver, which he quickly grasps before following the intruder. There seemed to have been no source of the noise, which had been caused by several decorative pillows tossed hurriedly into the ground. 

  "Show yourself," the boy commands.

  To his response, the spectral figure of a girl forms from the air with a disturbing aura.


End file.
